


One Night in Soho

by die_traumerei



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Chubby Aziraphale (Good Omens), Cuddles, Established Relationship, Historical, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, Oral Sex, Other, Reunion Sex, Reunions, Sex, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), The Blitz, World War II, aziraphale might have a rescue kink, crowley definitely has a rescuer kink, foot-washing, minor hurt/comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:40:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21638245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/die_traumerei/pseuds/die_traumerei
Summary: After he rescues Aziraphale at the church, Crowley gives him a lift home. And of course it would only be polite on Aziraphale's part to invite the demon in for a glass of wine and a good catch-up, right?Aziraphale learns the effects of holy ground on Crowley's feet, there's a brief snakey interlude, and then he gets to say thank you for the whole Nazi-rescue thing. And of course, they reconnect in the best and most loving of ways.(Sex. They have a lot of sex. And some talking, but not as much as they ought to, probably.)A story that assumes a centuries-old established relationship, and looking at the scene at the church through that lens, where 60 years is maybe not that very long to be in a lover's quarrel. Also, they both have the EQ of a pebble.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 38
Kudos: 282
Collections: Good Omens Holiday Swap 2019





	One Night in Soho

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mussimm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mussimm/gifts).



> Written for the prompt: Established relationship - Crowley rescues Aziraphale and is thanked appropriately (It's also technically historical, though in London, and I wedged in a smidgen of jealous Crowley!)
> 
> Happy holidays, Mussimm! I loved writing this, and I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> (A quick note for readers: note the rating and tags! I usually write Ace Crowley and Aziraphale, but these two are...enthusiastically allosexual, let us say. Explicitly so, in a few places.)

“There she is,” Crowley said proudly.

The Bentley had long, smooth lines that made it barely visible in the dark. Aziraphale's night vision wasn't quite as good as Crowley's, but it was better than a human's – just – and he admired the sleek thing. “Very handsome,” he assured Crowley. “It suits you.”

“Better than a horse would, you mean?” Crowley asked, without malice. He crossed the quiet street and rounded the car, opening the passenger-side door for Aziraphale.

“Well, not much would suit you _worse_...”

They couldn't help but smile at one another as Aziraphale slid into the passenger seat, and Crowley folded his arms on the top of the car door, leaning in just a bit. Keeping the door between them, but not really; they were inches from each other now.

“I've missed you,” Crowley said quietly.

“And I, you,” Aziraphale said, just as quietly. “There's a bottle of wine with our names on it at my place. I think a celebration is in order, don't you? I'm in the same place I was, ah, before.”

“A celebration would be just the thing.” Gentlemanly, Crowley closed Aziraphale's door and went around to his side, slipping in behind the wheel. The Bentley started up with a sweet purr, and they set off for the bookshop.

The streets were quiet, of course. The bombs hadn't hit too badly that night – the church an obvious exception – at least not on their route back to Soho. They eased through the dark, quite invisible, and Aziraphale marvelled at how well Crowley drove, speeding along so much faster than even the buses did. Of course, his demon eyes saw perfectly in the dark, and they were quite safe. Almost certainly.

“Do you, er. Have to go _quite_ so fast?” Aziraphale asked, finding a convenient bit of interior to hang onto, in addition to the precious books in his lap. 

(Precious because of what they were, and precious because Crowley saved them for him. Perhaps, Aziraphale thought, more beloved for the latter reason than the former now.)

“Hardly going fast at all, angel,” Crowley assured him, and Aziraphale attempted to settle, comforted by the old nickname.

They reached the bookshop in record time, of course, and all in one piece as well. Aziraphale let them in and carefully drew the blackout curtain over the door before leading the way to the back room, not bothering with lights along the way. He knew his shop perfectly, of course, and Crowley could see in the pitch dark. The quiet darkness magnified sound, though, and that was how Aziraphale heard Crowley limping.

“My dear boy! Your feet!” He snapped the lights on as soon as they were in the back room, and urged Crowley to sit in the most comfortable chair; Aziraphale's usual spot of course, but nothing else would do for his guest. His friend.

For they  _were_ still friends. Crowley had saved him! Saved his corporation, and saved him from his own foolishness, and what was the price going to be for him? He had spent so much time on sacred ground, and Aziraphale didn't like to think about what had been hidden by that ridiculous hopping about.

“I'm fine, angel,” Crowley said, but he also let himself be sat down.

“I'll be the judge of that,” Aziraphale said firmly. He knelt before Crowley, who protested that he was fine, nothing to worry about, what was Aziraphale saying about a bottle of wine? 

Aziraphale ignored him, a skill borne of long practice. Skipping a few decades had done nothing to dull it, either. He  _had_ missed Crowley, truly, but what was the length of a human lifetime compared to all they'd seen?

Well, all right. It may have gone a little slower, without his best friend dropping in regularly.

That was a thing to address later, though. Or never. For the moment, he had to undo Crowley's boots and ease them from his feet, tender and careful. Socks next – fine, thin things, of course, the most fashionable and up-to-date, quite unlike Aziraphale's practical handknits, much-darned of late.

“Oh, my very dear.” Aziraphale cupped his hands around Crowley's foot, the skin of his sole red and blistered. There were still the pretty scales on his instep, but the burns spread up as far as his ankle, painful-looking red patches. Crowley's other foot, still resting on the ground, looked at least as bad.

“'M not sorry.”

“I never expected you to be. I'm very grateful, sweetheart.” Aziraphale kissed Crowley's knee and gently settled his foot, lifting the other one and confirming its similar state; burns across the sole of his foot, and higher. “Let me wash your feet, Crowley, and treat these burns, and bandage them. You'll feel much better, I think.”

Crowley made a noise of protest, but Aziraphale got to his feet and patted his head. “You can have wine while I do so, all right?”

“I can't be bribed, you know,” Crowley grumped, crossing his arms.

“Don't be ridiculous, of course you can,” Aziraphale said. Wine first, and then with his dear boy temporarily sated, he could tend to Crowley's feet. And then that done with – well, they certainly were due a good tipsy catch-up. Possibly with more to come after.

Aziraphale smiled to himself, thinking of the more – he would so like to thank Crowley in the way they liked best. He poured them each a generous glass and handed one over to the cranky demon.

The two saluted one another, and sipped, and Aziraphale got to work. He gathered a pan of cool water, a clean towel, ointment, and linen bandages from the stash that never ran too low, thanks to regular miracles.

Aziraphale knelt in front of Crowley, quite aware of what this looked like, and also entirely not caring even a bit. Heaven had hardly been about to step in, even against the most evil force Aziraphale had ever known! But his Crowley had come, and the thought of that – Aziraphale bent and kissed Crowley's instep, lips lingering over smooth, cool scales.

“No,” Crowley said sharply, but with no anger. “No, angel, never that. You can take care of me – all right, yes, it does hurt – but never kiss my feet. I don't want that.”

“I'm sorry, dear boy.” Aziraphale said, looking up. “Just, well – thank you. Very much.”

“What have I said about thanks?” Crowley grumbled, but he sipped his wine and didn't protest any more.

Feeling quite smug about this little victory, Aziraphale carefully washed Crowley's feet. He couldn't take away the pain or heal this; his angelic powers could only make it worse. But he could make what human interventions he could, and take care of Crowley until his body had healed naturally. And they weren't so bad, he supposed; at least compared to some of the wounds he had seen lately. It was cold comfort, but comfort nonetheless.

Once Crowley's feet were carefully washed and the burns smeared with ointment, Aziraphale bandaged them and carefully put them up on a nearby ottoman, smiling up at Crowley when he couldn't help a sigh of contentment. Hah. Aziraphale would  _too_ soothe him, and help drive the pain away a little.

Aziraphale reclaimed his wine, topped up Crowley's glass, and settled in the other chair, a little charmed that they had switched sides, so to speak; he was in the chair had that been Crowley's, back when he came to visit, and Crowley of course was in his spot.

“How have you been, my dear?” Aziraphale asked, after appreciating the tipple. He wasn't aware his nerves had really needed to be settled, but the wine was comforting. And he was glad to be here with his Crowley, instead of alone and wandering through a dark bookshop, listening for more bombs.

“Oh, you know, the usual,” Crowley said. “Took quite a good nap – guess you knew that – bit of temptation here and there. That sort of thing. You?”

“About the same,” Aziraphale said. “Oh! I learned to dance the gavotte!”

“The what?”

“It's terribly out of fashion now,” Aziraphale explained. “But goodness, it was wonderful, dancing with all those gentlemen...” He paused, dreamily remembering long-gone friends and the particular, exquisite joy of all of them moving in the same great pattern, of handsome bodies and long nights over a snifter of brandy in a private club.

“Dancing. Right.” Crowley smirked at him.

“You cheeky thing! You know I was only dancing.” Aziraphale smiled at Crowley, his face lighting up as it only did around his friend. “Don't tell me you're _jealous_?”

“As I sit here talking to you and drinking your wine? Banish the thought.” Crowley winked, and Aziraphale was pleased he had, at some point, removed his dark glasses. It was so nice to be able to see Crowley's eyes. He hadn't missed them, quite – he still wore the locket with a tiny painting of a single golden eye – but he had missed the warm companionship that Crowley brought into his life. All right, he could admit it to himself. He had missed Crowley's love.

“But mostly it was the usual.” Aziraphale said, and waved his hand. “Except for the Great War, of course.”

“Oh, yes,” Crowley said softly, sadness evident in his voice. “That was different, wasn't it?”

“Indeed.” Aziraphale leaned over and rested his hand on Crowley's knee. “My dear, I am so glad to have found you, you know. Or for you to have found me, I suppose.”

Crowley smiled at him and laid his hand over Aziraphale's, squeezing gently. “I rescued you, and don't you forget it.”

“Oh, fine, you old serpent,” Aziraphale said, settling back and returning to his wine. “Oh, my dear! You may have slept through it – have you had a curry yet? I mean here, not in India.”

“Good God, they've imported that too?” Crowley asked, a little amazed. “But the spices...” 

Aziraphale smiled as Crowley trailed off, knowing he was lost in a memory of heat, and peppers so hot his eyes ran with tears and he wheezed and asked for more. “Oh, not those,” he said, when Crowley came back to the present, still with a dreamy smile. “I don't even know how you'd go about sourcing them here. No, it's quite interesting, the way they've mixed British and Indian cooking. We'll have to try it soon, I think you'll quite like it.”

“I usually do, if you recommend it,” Crowley said. “Next Tuesday? Lunch?”

“Lunch Tuesday will be excellent,” Aziraphale agreed. Just as he had thought – no time had passed since their terrible argument. Not really.

They finished the bottle of wine between them, but agreed to stop there. There were other things they missed, beyond the conversation, and it was ever so much more comfortable in Aziraphale's bedroom.

There was the small matter of Crowley's poor feet, of course, and Aziraphale was just offering him an arm to help him up the stairs when he solved the problem, of course, by simply transforming into a great red-bellied snake.

“Well, I suppose your feet can't hurt if you don't have any,” Aziraphale mused aloud as he led the way up the grand staircase to the first floor, and the little door that led to his private flat. Crowley, of course, slithered up right behind him.

He seemed content to remain a snake as they repaired to the bedroom – well enough, they could make love in the morning, and it  _had_ been quite a long night, Aziraphale thought as he changed for bed, meticulous in his care for his clothes. He had been making do and mending for quite some time now, after all.

He stood before the mirror in his old nightgown and watched the great snake slither off of the bed, rise up behind him, and transform.

“Crowley, your feet --” Of course the bandages were gone now, the foolish thing.

“Bollocks to my feet,” Crowley said. He rested his hands on Aziraphale's shoulders, and bent his head to kiss the half-moon curve of skin the nightgown revealed. Just where Aziraphale's neck became his back, and the skin was soft, freckled and plump, and insanely tempting to a demon. Or to anyone with any sense, Crowley firmly believed. 

“This was how I saw you the first time,” he murmured. “This bit of skin, the curve of your shoulders and your neck. Have I ever told you how alluring it is?” Another kiss. “You're so _vulnerable_ , angel. And of course there was the promise of so much more, but hidden away under cloth. Under wings, back then. He's so delicious,” I thought. “He's an angel, but he might not strike me down right away.”

“Well, that went down like a lead balloon,” Aziraphale said softly, and turned, and pulled Crowley into an embrace. “I have missed you, dearest.”

“I missed you too,” Crowley said, and finally, finally kissed him, soft and slow.

Aziraphale savoured the stretch of raising his arms and wrapping them about Crowley's shoulders. There were hardly two inches' difference between their heights, but it was enough to make him have to reach just a little, stretch a bit, and it was a feeling that was only for Crowley.

They weren't in a hurry, anyway. The night was long, this time of year, and bled well into the next day. If it was gloomy, especially after a night of bombing, it hardly seemed as though the sun rose at all. And anyway, they might do as they pleased. Not forever, but for a day, Aziraphale thought. They could have a day just for them.

He tasted Crowley's mouth, reacquainting himself. Crowley's kisses were familiar and all the more welcome for it in a world that had turned upside-down and gone too unfamiliar. And, of course, quite simply – he loved Crowley, and loved to touch him and kiss him and make love, and all the good things they did together.

Mindful of burned feet, he nudged them over to the bed, laughing when Crowley landed with a bounce, legs already spread, and Aziraphale could crawl atop him.

“Can't believe you still wear this old thing” Crowley said, touching a bit of embroidery down the front placket of Aziraphale's nightgown. “What is this, Victorian? No, it's older, isn't it?”

“Mmm. I had it made in about 1800,” Aziraphale admitted. “And it's very comfortable. Quite airy and all.”

Crowley shook his head and tried to sort out what had to be several yards of linen. “Good heavens angel, you'll have to send a rope after me. Going to get lost in all this.”

“You're really _very_ dramatic, you know,” Aziraphale observed. He rolled onto his side, head propped up on one hand, and let Crowley explore.

“Oh good Lord,” he said a few minutes later, when Crowley actually _had_ managed to get tangled in the fabric, and utterly failed, somehow, to find the bottom hem. “I cannot believe _you_ rescued _me_.”

Crowley grinned as Aziraphale sorted them out and got him started, hitching the gown up to his knees. “And a very dashing rescuer I was, I thought. Did I look handsome?”

“Very,” Aziraphale assured him. “The dancing on holy ground hardly took anything away from it.”

“Are you _mocking_ me?” Crowley asked. His hand was on Aziraphale's thigh, and very welcome it was there, too.

“Yes?”

Crowley sighed and shook his head. “That's angelic gratitude for you.”

“I thought the miracle was my thanks,” Aziraphale said, and leaned in for a kiss, and a little wriggle to get Crowley's hand a bit higher.

“Cheeky. I'm taking my time. You have the most delicious legs, do you know? I used to admire them, back when men wore hose.”

“Ah, I've only ever been your second in looks,” Aziraphale said, cupping Crowley's face in one hand. “You're so very lovely, my dear.” Another kiss. “And I do want to say thank you. For I owe you thanks. Truly, Crowley. You saved my life – well, my body. You didn't have to.”

“I think I did,” Crowley said. “You don't owe me anything, angel.” He frowned, and his hand left Aziraphale's leg. There was a distinct cold spot there, for all that Crowley hardly ran warm. “I mean that, Aziraphale. Don't do this if you feel like you owe me. You don't. You never owe me this.”

“Idiot serpent. You hammered that into my head a long time ago,” Aziraphale assured him. Time to mend them a little more, he thought, and he gathered Crowley close, giving him a particularly long kiss, tender and sure and offering, if he wanted...

“What about if I love you?” he asked. “Can we lie together then? So I can love you and have fun with you and enjoy our bodies?”

“Gnk,” Crowley said, and shook his head. “Blimey, angel, you can kiss.” He put his hand back on Aziraphale's thigh, a good couple of inches higher than it had been. “And yes. Those are good reasons. Because I l-love you. Too.” He took a deep breath. “Everything you said.”

“It's all right. You don't have to say.” Aziraphale smiled into Crowley's eyes. “Show me.”

“What, the bomb wasn't enough?” Crowley muttered, but in the next breath he ducked under far, far too much linen, accompanied by the beautiful sight and sound of Aziraphale laughing and giving a happy wiggle.

Aziraphale made a gleeful noise as Crowley's mouth replaced his hand, and he kissed his way up the angel's soft thigh, fingers trailing along to lead the way, caresses and kisses taking him first up past the crease of his hip, warm and tender and secret, and then to the curve of his belly. One good thing about not needing to eat – rationing didn't cause one to lose weight, and his soft, round stomach still brought immense joy to his lover, or so Crowley announced, only lightly muffled under the nightgown.

Aziraphale giggled and rubbed one foot along Crowley's calf, enjoying the roughness of his wool suit. “You do look so handsome in the modern fashions,” he praised. “I was – I was so happy to see you.” The stutter wasn't just from where Crowley's mouth was. Aziraphale hadn't wanted to even  _hope_ . Of course he knew they would see one another again, once time had healed some things. But the decades had begun to stretch and Aziraphale had begun to worry.

That wasn't anything worth thinking about, right now. Better to pay full attention to Crowley, who so deserved it. “Of course, I was happy because you were rescuing me, and a very fine job you did of that too. But you were so  _handsome_ . Are handsome.” He regarded the half of Crowley sticking out from under his nightgown, and giggled. “Even like this. Especially like this, actually.”

“When I'm done you're getting out of this thing,” Crowly announced from between his legs, and Aziraphale laughed, and then moaned, and returned to his train of thought. “Like a cinematographic hero, you know, all sleek and fashionable and—and – _oh_!”

Angelic orgasms are a thing of great energy, though Aziraphale had learned to keep from blowing the roof off soon after he and Crowley had decided they wanted to be friends  _and_ lovers. He still saw stars, and may have had a few more wings and eyes than usual for a bit, but at least they didn't then have to find fresh digs for the night, until the structural damage could be repaired.

Aziraphale blinked his eyes open, feeling a little drunk and very, very soft and exceptionally happy. “Bugger clothes,” he said, snapped his fingers, and pulled a freshly-naked Crowley up and into his also-naked arms, their legs tangling together as they kissed.

“Hello, beautiful.” Crowley wreathed Aziraphale's face in his arms, kissing him deeply, and couldn't stop a noise when their bodies rubbed together, so much _skin_ pressed together.

“Oh, I have _missed_ you,” Aziraphale said, the hunger evident in his voice. “Crowley, Crowley, love. We're going to have so much fun together.” He smiled, and kissed Crowley again, nuzzling his cheek. “I'm too serious without you. You make the world even more wonderful than it already is. I do love you so, dear boy.”

Crowley was quiet, but that was all right – Aziraphale understood he had trouble with words. That they were so big, too powerful. And anyway, words were  _his_ domain; it was quite right that he lavished praise and affection with them. 

(Aziraphale knew words lied, too. He thought, sometimes, that he might not have believed a demon who told him sweet things. But he believed one with eyes that showed his very soul, who touched and moved so gently, who brought Aziraphale gifts and gave love with touch and gesture, action and tenderness.)

Even Aziraphale's words trickled to a stop, though, as he kissed his way across Crowley's body, cherishing every freckle, each span of cool skin. He moved slow, the edge taken off, and he knew how Crowley liked it, and gave it to him just that way. It was very handy, all told, to be able to pick one's genitals at will.

“So lovely,” he praised, as Crowley gasped for breath in his arms, afterwards. “My rescuer. You're really quite good at being dashing, you know.” 

“Laying it on a little thick there, angel.”

“You love it,” Aziraphale said smugly, and rolled them over a little so they could face one another and snuggle in the middle of the bed, Crowley tucked safely close. 

“I'll love _you_ ,” Crowley muttered, and groaned when Aziraphale started laughing. “You know that's not what I meant!”

“Oh, so you won't love me tomorrow?” Aziraphale teased.

“That's not funny,” Crowley said. And going by his voice – oh Lord, when would Aziraphale stop hitting sore spots?

“I'm sorry,” he said gently, and tilted Crowley's chin up, letting their eyes meet. “Oh, sweetheart. I know. I promise. I know you love me better than I know anything else.”

Crowley smiled shyly. “Good. 'Cause I do. Um. Love you.”

“I'd never doubt,” Aziraphale promised. “Poor demon, you need more kisses.”

“Yes,” Crowley said. “I do, actually.”

Aziraphale laughed and did his best to sate the demon in his arms, as would be expected. There were quite a lot of kisses involved, and soft touches, their bodies rolling together and making a little place of warmth in Aziraphale's bed. The air was winter-chill, but Aziraphale was careful to keep them warm, a little miracle to help them on this special night.

He may not have owed Crowley thanks in any kind of serious way, but Aziraphale certainly enjoyed showing his appreciation – over and over and, a bit to their shared surprise, over again.

“We're going to get dehydrated,” Aziraphale moaned. He'd forgotten how addictive Crowley's body was. How he quickly craved moans and kisses and the feel of Crowley's cock sliding into his cunny, or vice-versa. It was intoxicating, the way they loved one another, and Aziraphale mentally cleared his calendar for the next day. At least. Several hours would be needed where he could simply bury his face between Crowley's legs and see what he could do with lips and tongue and his blunt, thick fingers.

“I'm going to go into _heart failure_ ,” Crowley slurred. “You weren't this enthusiastic back in. Uh. '91?”

“991? I was freezing to death in monastery, as well you knew!”

Crowley cackled. “Oi, seducing that priest wasn't very fun! And I was freezing to death too, thank you.”

“At least you had that ermine robe and things,” Aziraphale grumbled, still not willing to give up a grudge, even when Crowley looked so very alluring sprawled across the mattress, sweat drying. “Oh, wait. 1791?”

“Mmmhmm.” Crowley cracked one eye open. “I'm going to start thinking you've got a _thing_ for being rescued, angel.”

“It's not my fault people keep trying to discorporate me!” Aziraphale crossed his arms, and looked over at Crowley. “Besides, I like it when you rescue me.”

“I. You. Ngk?” Crowley was clearly not expecting _that_ , but Aziraphale wasn't sure what he _was_ expecting, going fishing for compliments like that.

“Well, I do,” Aziraphale said. “And not just because of the not-discorporating thing, though I greatly enjoy that, as you know. I. It means I see you again,” he added, a little sadly. “We can have lunch together or something.”

“Oh, angel.” Crowley was a bit gross, he knew, all dried sweat and other things, but it was definitely more important to pull Aziraphale into his arms. “I'm sorry. It's been too long, hasn't it?” He kissed Aziraphale, and tucked him close. “Remember when we could go centuries?”

“Dimly.” Aziraphale smiled. “I'm not sad, dearest, or upset with you. We both have jobs. Just.” He laid his head on Crowley's chest, fingertips tracing soft lines across his belly. Best to keep to the line. They both knew why they'd really gone so long without speaking. “We seem to be growing closer, love. We've not been able to be apart from each other for centuries since we became. Well. Us.”

“And now decades are too long,” Crowley agreed. “Maybe years, even.” He took a deep breath. “I bought a flat in London. Mayfair.”

“Crowley!”

“Back in the '20's. 1820's, I mean. Didn't do much with it, but I think I'll move in. Full-time, I mean. My lot seem to have stopped caring about where I am. And London's awfully convenient.”

“It's served me well as a home base,” Aziraphale said. “Very easy, if I get dispatched somewhere. Not that that's happened lately.”

“Same,” Crowley said. “Huh. Interesting.”

“Oh, let's not talk shop right now?' Aziraphale begged. “We have so many nicer things to catch up on.”

“So we do.” Crowley thought he might have the energy for one more Effort. And so, he found, did Aziraphale.

Someone – neither of them were really sure who, so it might have been a combination miracle/demonic working or possibly an external miracle of some sort – got them cleaned up. They definitely got each other under the covers, or tried to, consider how they got a bit tangled.

“Sun's coming up,” Aziraphale noted.

“Mmrph,” Crowley said.

“Oh, fine, go to sleep,” Aziraphale grumbled, although not really. Crowley asleep was one of the more endearing sights in the universe. He also carefully pulled the blankets up a little higher. Crowley _did_ so feel the cold, poor thing.

“I am,” Crowley mumbled, and twined himself around Aziraphale, his legs somehow longer and and more flexible than they had any real right to be.

Aziraphale stroked Crowley's hair until he'd drifted off, and then settled himself. A little nap before he woke and read quietly, and then lunch together. And not just lunch and goodbye, he thought. Things were changing. And if one of those changes was for them to live in the same city, and spend many hours, even days together – well, that was a good change, in a world turned terrible. He'd take it.

**Author's Note:**

> Random notes:
> 
> \- Aziraphale's intro/reveal is just the most sexy thing I can think of. Seriously. The whole vulnerable/back of the neck thing is just...*unh*. I am assuming Crowley feels the same way.
> 
> \- there's a lot to be said for a seriously established relationship. I almost tagged this book-verse as well, since I see them having that kind of settled, comfortable-ness between them.
> 
> thank you for reading! I'm on tumblr as dietraumerei.tumblr.com


End file.
